That was not the only reason Tewanias was cautious. The Stone People – as the Oneida were known by the tribes within the Six Nations – had been given that name by their enemies. Legend had it that if they knew they were being pursued, the Oneida could transform themselves into rocks to escape capture.

Tewanias hoped that wasn’t an omen. His hand moved to his neck, only for it to pause when he remembered that he had presented his totem to the boy. No matter, he thought. The Oneida were spineless dogs and no match for a war chief of the Kanien’kehá:ka, the Eaters of Men.

He remained still, senses alert, listening to the chatter of the forest as the water flowed swift and clear about his feet. Around him, rocks and boulders had formed a pattern of natural bridges and weirs, over which the stream tumbled in a series of shallow, silvery cascades.

Nothing appeared untoward. About to move off, however, his eyes were suddenly drawn to a clump of snakeroot by the side of the path ahead. He paused.

There was a patch of damp earth at the base of the plant. Tewanias sniffed the air. There was something else present, too: the pungent odour of human piss. He slipped the war club from his back, knowing, even as he did so, that he had profoundly underestimated his enemy’s guile. The palm print had been placed there not by accident but by design.

Sensing movement at the perimeter of his vision, he pivoted just in time to see a dark human form rise up on the opposite bank, accompanied by a thrumming sound as a slender metal object whickered across the narrow stream, sunlight glancing off the spinning blade.

Jerking his head aside, he felt the displacement of air across his skin as the hatchet flicked past his cheek and thudded into the tree beside his ear, scattering bark chips like rain.

There was no time to dwell on how or when the Oneida runner had discovered he was being stalked. Just as Tewanias had drawn upon the signs and sounds of the woods to aid him in his tracking, so the Oneida scout must have used the same resources to detect his enemy’s presence and bait a trap to ensnare him.

The sound of the musket shot was flat and loud. The ball struck Tewanias on his right side; punching him backwards. The war club fell from his grasp.

Then he was dropping, too.